h u n g e r
by silverbootlegger
Summary: The woman smiled sardonically that went unnoticed by the young boy. "Perhaps you do not hunger for it yet. But one day, you will devour it, and it won't ever be enough for you." "That is enough." The white-haired man stood behind her. A 6-year old Harry finds three strange people in his head. Possible HPDM slash, eventual Ghoul!Harry


**This was literally just written on a whim. There wasn't enough TG fanfiction for me, and even less crossovers. This one is a bit angsty, but TG is naturally angsty anyways.**

 **I don't own Harry Potter or Tokyo Ghoul. Really.**

* * *

Six year old Harry Potter stood in the meadow of white flowers. Carnations, he remembered. The year before, Aunt Petunia had ordered him to plant carnations in her garden. He disliked remembering that time, and looked up above him instead. The cloudless sky was bleeding red. Everywhere he looked, the sea of red and white stretched out as far as his eyes can see. Suddenly, he remembered his injuries that suddenly were not aching anymore. The red welts on his arms and the purple and green bruises on his legs were fading into his pale sickly skin. A lone tear fell from his left eye, and he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. He looked up and saw a beautiful Asian woman with strange purple hair smiling down at him.

"Look," she whispered in an unfamiliar language, but he understood anyways. In front of him suddenly stood a white haired man wearing a black shirt and dirty white shorts. The man lifted an arm up, his palms facing upward. He was beckoning him closer. Harry turned above him, to the woman, but she was gone. He glanced back at the man and saw her standing beside him. She gave him a reassuring smile. The young boy tried to step forward but found that he cannot move his feet. He looked down to see that the white flowers surrounding him had changed; their soft white petals suddenly had splotches of red in them, like drops of blood, splattered on its plain canvas. Beneath him, vines grew and wrapped around his scrawny legs. He struggled, and the more he tried to fight it off, the more the vines curled up around him and tightened their grip.

Help me, he wanted to scream. Save me. Get me out of here.

The man and woman stood at the edge of the flower boundary, remaining in their pure white side, staring at Harry with unreadable expressions. Cold hands gripped his arms, and Harry saw behind him, a sinister looking young man, with black hair and thin cold lips curled into a snarl.

He pleaded to the man and woman with his eyes, but the only response he got was a smile.

* * *

Harry James Potter is strange. When the population of Privet Drive first heard of the poor Dursley's crazy seven-year old nephew, they had been wary of the young child, who is expected to grow up exactly like his parents, a drunk and a whore. They have been fed with stories of the boy's uncontrollable behaviour, and his apparently aggressive actions against the Dursley's child. But that day, that fateful Wednesday, a few days after school started for the young children, the young boy had done something wholly unexpected of someone born from a pair of delinquents.

An over speeding car lost control right beside the school during dismissal time, and amidst the flurry of flustered parents and screaming children, a lone child fell into the street, right in front of the oncoming car. The child's mother, a manicured woman with her hand around another child, an older sibling, screamed in fright. Just before the car could crash into the child, right in front of all the children and parents, Harry James Potter silently threw himself in front of the car, wrapping himself around the other child.

The impact threw both children a few meters away. The fallen child suffered a concussion, but Harry almost died.

* * *

After that day, more people looked at Harry with more respect, and some had tried to familiarize themselves with him. He was put into a hospital for a whole month, and that was when his multiple other injuries were discovered. His stay was extended, and for the first time ever, he had visitors.

During visitor hours, the child he saved and his mother often dropped by, bringing with them a bouquet of white hyacinths, yellow lilies, and snapdragons.

Prayers for him, gratitude, and strength. Harry graciously accepted them with a smile, mirroring the similar faces of the two. After they left, Harry threw them.

He has no need of poison and lies.

* * *

Despite his unhealthy diagnosis, Harry was released after full treatment and was returned to the Dursleys, the source of his long time injuries. To his confusion, there had been no inquiries about how the Dursleys had treated him, even though when he was at the hospital before, the people taking care of him before seemed to be agitated about his condition. Nevertheless, he returned without a single word, and was "welcomed" back into the household. He was moved from the cupboard to his cousin Dudley's second room.

Although the space given to him was more acceptable than the cupboard, he was colder than ever.

* * *

He was there again, with the woman and the man. This time, the field of white was much farther, and the stained carnations surrounding him had spread. He stood there, trapped with the dark haired man, bound with thick green vines.

He screamed.

* * *

Harry James Potter is lovely. He is polite when spoken to, and he spoke with better vocabulary than his fellow eight-year olds. More often than not, he is seen carrying around a borrowed book and reading in a shade while the rest of the other children played around. Many have approached him, asking him to be their friend, and all times the young boy had said yes. But he never tried.

Perhaps the Dursley boy, the young lad's cousin had him discouraged. Before he had become a local hero, he was constantly pushed around by his cousin, and following his example, the rest of the grade. Now, when their opinion of him changed, it must have been too late. The closest friend that the young boy had was the young lad that he saved from that car accident a year before. The young boy had taken Harry's affirmative to friendship to heart, and was often seen around beside the boy, sleeping or reading the same book over the raven-haired boy's shoulder, although by the scrunching of his eyebrows, clearly does not hold the same understanding as the other boy does. He was the closest person to have breached the solid wall that Harry had built around himself.

Everyone liked it that way. It was a preferred option to stay away and admire from afar, the lovely young boy, the untouchable hero, the tragic individual unfortunate enough to be born from two worthless individuals but was raised in a proper with love. (They look beyond the new batch of bruises and cuts that appears on the young boy's pale skin.) Life after all is a stage, and they are content to watch the boy as their actor.

* * *

It has been two years since the accident, and although his scars have healed already (but the marks will never fade), the child he saved still brought him flowers. Every now and then they would walk to school together, and sometimes he would be there, holding a pink rose that he would hand over to Harry with a small smile an a good morning. He would smile back and accept.

He would keep that rose with him for the rest of the day, and even as he walks home beside his friend.

But as soon as they go their separate ways, Harry drops the flower on the ground and continues home.

There are days that he would be gone for a whole day, and that was just fine with Harry.

* * *

He was seven when he met her. She was a strange one, with partially shaved blond hair, that framed her round face. She had strange blue, almost purple eyes, and she wore black lipstick. Despite her intimidating appearance, she wore pastel coloured dresses and fancy shoes. She speaks in soft dulcet tones, and sang in higher ones. She played the violin, and she offered to teach Harry music.

The Dursleys, conflicted with the circumstances, reluctantly allowed Harry lessons, as long as they don't pay for it, and Harry finishes his chores.

Nevermind the fact that Harry first met her in an alley trying drugs with a shady guy for the first time. His appearance stopped her in time ("I can't be a bad example to children!" she squeaks and slaps the guy away).

When he got home after the Dursleys first met her, he was punished for associating with unfavorable influences.

* * *

The man and woman stood staring at both Harry and the dark-haired man, the field of white closing in on both of them. New hope rose inside the child's heart, and hate surged on the dark-haired man. He could feel tendrils of hate wafting off the man's own pores, and the woman standing closer to Harry smiled smugly while the man impassively stared him down.

Like he was waiting for something.

Harry can't wait for them to save him, although he isn't sure if it will be a good thing.

Even if salvation is drawing near as time passes, he felt like he will lose something important for his freedom.

* * *

During Saturday mornings, one would often find a mismatched trio spending time together under the shady trees of Magnolia Cresent, a taller-than-average ginger-haired boy scribbling on a notebook, a raven-haired boy reading a book, and an older teenager playing the violin. It became a normal occurrence in the neighbourhood, and often a small crowd would litter around, pretending to be out for fresh air when Harry Potter takes the violin and practices.

Peace never lasts long.

* * *

Harry James Potter takes the same route, the usual one that he has taken for years already, hands curled causally around the strap of his second-hand bag. His friend stood there at the usual spot he has been waiting for Harry for years, another rose held in his hand. It was a different rose this time.

Harry paused to a stop just a few meters away, and the other boy meets his eye.

They stood there for a few moments, then the boy smiled, just as he had for the past few years, said his greeting, and approached Harry. He took his hand and handed him the rose.

"Come on," he said, briskly walking up to the school. The back of the boy's neck was flushed.

Harry didn't follow, instead following his retreating back with his eyes, while gripping the red rose in his hand.

* * *

The field had turned from pure white to mixed red and white.

The pure white carnations that Harry had been seeing for years now are tainted, filthy, disgusting. He struggled in his captivity, yelling and cursing like he had never cursed before.

The man who held him was gone.

The woman in white stood in front of him.

"Why do you refuse?" She asks.

It's a lie.

"How do you know?"

I have always known.

"How?"

I see it in his eyes.

"Then you can see that he loves you."

He's ten years old. He mistakes his pity for affection. He does not know love.

"And you would know about it?"

"I love you."

It's a lie.

"It's not."

Everything everyone knows about me are lies. They are all liars.

"Are they?"

They pretend to care but they don't really.

"The hospital?"

They befriend me when they dislike me.

"School?"

They beat me and tell the whole world they love me.

"The Dursleys?"

Love is not real.

"Not if you accept it."

I have no need for love.

"Do you fear it?"

"I love you, Harry. Your mother and father loved you too."

I have no need for love.

The woman smiled sardonically that went unnoticed by the young boy. "Perhaps you do not hunger for it yet. But one day, you will devour it, and it won't ever be enough for you."

"That is enough." The white-haired man stood behind her.

"I love you."

* * *

Harry didn't go to school for a week. The Dursley household was polished for a whole week.

When Harry went back to school, with a new set of bruises, he saw both his desk and his friend's desk filled with flowers from nameless well-wishers and deceptive admirers. He accepted his pile with a smile, but his eyes wandered into the pile of the other boy.

* * *

The trauma from the accident years before had taken its toll on the other boy, and he had his surgery that week that Harry was gone. The days that he wasn't present were check-up days, and it was revealed that the trauma on his head had simply been too much and he is now currently hospitalized.

Harry visited him every other day.

* * *

By the end of ten-year old Harry's school year, he would never be seeing that boy again.

* * *

I'm sorry, she says. I have to.

"You promised me you would teach me until I was even better than you."

Not all promises can be fulfilled Harry.

"Why are you leaving me?"

I'm sorry, I love you.

"Liar," he cries, his small hands curled around the bow and violin.

* * *

He wasn't bound by the vines anymore, but he found that he cannot move from that spot anyways. He stood on that same place numbly, and the woman was there. She smiled at him, and handed him a red rose. Hesitating for a second, he raised his hand to take it, but as soon as he made contact with the rose, it twisted an bloomed into a single blood red spider lily.

* * *

 **White Carnation - innocence, remembrance**

 **Striped Carnation (the red and white carnation) - refusal**

 **White Hyacinth - loveliness, I'll be praying for you, hyacinths are also generally toxic plants**

 **Yellow Lilies - happiness/gaiety, falsehood**

 **Snapdragons - graciousness, strength, deception, presumption**

 **Pink Rose - admiration, joy, gratitude, appreciation**

 **Red Rose - love, desire, longing, respect, admiration, devotion**

 **Red Spider Lily - loss, longing, abandonment, lost memories**

 **It's likely easy to guess who those three are in Harry's mind. If you don't know, I'll let you keep guessing.**

 **Well? I would really appreciate knowing what you guys think by reviewing. You know. Reviews? Reviews are nice.**


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